Godzilla: Avatars
by The Blue Eyed Devil
Summary: Welcome to a world Post-Godzilla. At least, that is what it believes. Men and Women will change, and soon the lines between man and monster will be forever blurred.
1. History

In 1945, America dropped the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

In 1954, Godzilla first appeared, rampaging through Tokyo before being destroyed.

In 1985, Godzilla reappeared. Over the next few years, other monsters arose, and clashed between themselves as well as with the human race. This age of beasts lasted for 10 years, when the monsters mysteriously disappeared.

In 2000, Godzilla appeared a third time. He rampaged through Tokyo again, but soon retreated to the depths of the ocean. It was not long after that the Earth was suddenly attacked by another planet, dubbed Planet X, whose ruling race, the Xiliens, used the beasts that had ravaged the planet years earlier, having them strike at once.

Earth's nations realized that there only chance of survival was to band together, and with their unified power were able to repel some of the monsters attacks. However, others proved to be too powerful, and it was not till Godzilla reappeared.

Godzilla battled each beast and struck them down, one after the other. Till finally came the day when he faced King Ghidorah, the Emporer Godbeast of the Xiliens. Their battlefield lay upon the icy tundra of Antarctica. Upon these barrens lands, they battled for nearly a day. The Earth stood still as two true Dragons decided its fate. The end of the mythic battle came in the form of a monstrous blast of light, from which neither figure emerged.

Humanity moved on unsure of how to feel. Godzilla gave his life to protect them as creatures of Mother Earth. However, when mankind turned off their lights and slipped under their sheets, there was always a careful ear listening for the roar of the King of the Monsters, marking his return to reap vengeance upon mankind for their sins.


	2. Breakout

When project G-3 woke up, he had no idea where he was. He had no idea who he was. The past is a blank as he floats in a warm clear-blue liquid. At first weak, he tried to surmise his surroundings. Though, as he asked more questions about his setting, more questions arose from deep within his skull. When project G-3 woke up, he had no idea who he was.

The room is dark, and only a soft glow from a nearby computer on stand-by casts an eerie ambiance through the glass of project G-3's prison. A dulled beep steadily grows faster and faster as more his mental capacities return. A flash from another life blinks by; a lazy afternoon, the strum of a guitar, a young woman. It feels so long ago in the moment it is here. Project G-3 sees a new light appear as a figure opens a door. The blur walks up, taps on the glass, and waves. Project G-3 wishes he could see who this person was. He wished he could get out of this god damned tube and rip the bastard's head off. Sadly, before he can do anything, a press of a button pumps a new batch of tranquilizer into his veins, and Project G-3 drifts off to sleep again.

When project G-3 awoke again, the scene was much the same. A haze of reality passed through an enraging barrier. This time though, two individuals stood among the fog of light and color.

"the subject is responding well to the gene therapy" one of them mumbles.

"good" a second voice replies. It is a deep voice; a dark voice. One project G-3 knows to be that of the Devil. "his eyes are open"

A press of the button brings darkness again.

Eyes flutter open once more, only to be met familiar shine from the slumbering computer. Project G-3 grows furious with fear. How long will he have to suffer this torture, this existence? His heart beats faster, and soon an alarm sounds, bringing back the figure to press his button. His god damn button. Project G-3 falls back into darkness.

Black that flickers. Flurries of moments, flashes of pain and rage. How long has it been? How much more must he take? Project G-3 craves to be born from his glass womb. Their must be something out there, something more than this floating nothingness. He knew it to be true. Dreams of another life; a name he could not hear, a home he could not feel. Others, outside, kept him bound. Others that would pay. Others that would die screaming in fiery pain. The same pain that burned beneath Project G-3's skin and behind his eyes. Damn them for their coldness. Damn them for their cruelty. Damn them. DAMN THEM. **DAMN THEM!**

A crash to freedom drops Project G-3 upon solid ground, with red noise all around. A door swings open with terror born upon a man's face. Project G-3 sees him. Project G-3 knows him. He is the button pusher.

He wears a white lab coat over plain clothes. His hair is messy with a lack of care. Thick framed glasses shield eyes that quiver in the sight of an abomination of the doctor's making. A monster that looks as human as he.

The beast charges forward with obvious desire and snaps the doctor's arm in his grip.

"Please!" he screams. "I can help you!"

Help Project G-3? He made Project G-3. He has this coming. Inevitability wraps its fingers around his skull and tears the doctor's head from his shoulders. A body drops, followed closely by frozen fear of Project G-3's fury.

More are coming, loud and armed. They approach the doorway with caution, throwing in a small grenade before them. A blast of smoke hides the scene before gunfire illuminates it once again. Soldiers enter, and bodies are thrown back out, crashing against the wall and slumping to the ground broken and dead. The valiant follow next, only to fall as quickly as the unlucky first line. Instinct takes over as a demon rips limb from limb, instinct molded by training from another life.

The monster's rampage does not stop with those that made it and those that attack. Down the corridor, more victims found, more prayers shouted, more questions screamed.

"Please God!"

"Who are you?!"

"Someone help me!"

"What are you doing?!"

Blood and bodies trail the beast in his wake. Most do not attack, but only cower. Project G-3 knows not if they participated in his making, but proximity is sin enough.

In a room of lockers and personal belongings, the monster finally sees his reflection upon a mirror. He sees the short black hair and square jaw he dreamt of. Black eyes and a flat nose. Even covered in their blood, the monster resembles one of them. For a moment there is shame, but only for a moment. He takes a long, green jacket and black pants from the belongings of some victims. Out the back door he slips, and down into a hole, where once again he finds the dark.

The scene is no less a horror when cast in the morning sun. Bodies laid on the ground, over furniture, and in several places they were lodged into the wall. Flashbulbs illuminated little more. It is not the press taking pictures though, nor is it the police. Sadly, none of those parties were informed of these events. Those reporting to the breakout are scientists, cleaners, and executives. Employees, or servants rather, of the devil.

He was the owner of Toho Inc., a conglomerate that owned almost all of Nu Tokyo. His name was Yuri Tatakonda. A modern king, with wealth that was almost infinite. His frame was stocky, his hair dark gray, skin wrinkled with age. Despite all he owned he desired more. As much as possible. Money, clothes, cars, women, companies, houses, whatever he could get his hands on. Greed was like oxygen to the man, and no one could convince him it was foolhardy.

He had dictated that anything that was to occur in this lab would stay classified, which meant that those on staff were told specifically that no official authorities were to be notified. Thankfully, when he got the call in the morning himself, none had been.

The breakout had taken place in an unreported laboratory. The subject of the research was what the Worlds' governments had deemed off limits: research into the origins and genetics of the monsters that had ravaged their world. Tatakonda had no interest in reviving the beasts though. Instead, he wanted to make weapons. Weapons he could sell to the highest bidder. People with money and hatred.

Before Tatakonda arrived, the man in charge of the operation had been his assistant and protégé Mareo Murasawa. He had been the first person that security had called. He was also the one who had to inform Tatakonda. Despite the younger man's insistence that his boss keep his hands clean of the situation, Tatakonda could not stay away. He wanted to see this first hand.

"Sir" Murasawa greeted as he removed a dark pair of sunglasses. They shook hands.

"Walk me through it" Tatakonda ordered. Murasawa ran a hand through his short, spiky hair before nodding and leading Tatakonda to the laboratory labeled G-3.

"Yizuka" Tatakonda noted when he first saw the severed head of the head scientist for the project he funded.

"We've are examining the computer's records" Murasawa told Tatakonda. "Apparently at 3:29 this morning, subject G-3's heart rate began to spike erratically. At 3:30, we lost tracking of his vitals, which leads me to believe that is when he broke free."

"How did he manage to gain consciousness?" Tatakonda inquired.

"We are still looking into that" Murasawa admitted. "Judging from Yizuka's notes, the project was growing resistant to the sedative." Murasawa pulled a small journal from his suit pocket and began flipping through it. "He notes that he had to increase the dosage as time went on."

"How long had G-3 been under therapy?"

"According to this…two months" Murasawa said. "Yizuka theorizes that the G-cells remarkable adaptive ability may be what allowed the project to resist."

"Who was he?" Tatakonda asked.

"Haruo Nakajima" Murasawa answered, handing his boss a small folder. Inside was a picture of a young military man and his personal info. "Former Lieutenant in the Special Forces wing of the Godzilla Defense Force. Dishonorably discharged for insubordination. Hired by Toho Private Security, and ushered into the G-3 project shortly after."

"Voluntarily?" Tatakonda asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Not really" Tatakonda replied.

Tatakonda's eyes roamed the room. Lesser men and women were shuffling about, checking and double checking readouts from the machines. Eventually, he locked eyes with the frozen glare of Dr. Jiro Yizuka. They had known each other for some time, though Tatakonda would not call him a friend. He had no friends. What made him pause upon that face though was the pure, unadulterated terror trapped within the muscles and skin.

Tatakonda turned and left the lab wanting to see the rest. The two men continued their discussion as they passed men bagging bodies and scrubbing blood from the walls.

"What is the project capable of?" Tatakonda asked.

"Well, we're not sure" Murasawa answered. "G-3 was the longest surviving subject of the gene therapy. This also is what has caused him to be the most fully integrated with the G-Cells. According to examination, muscle fibers tripled in size, as well almost a fourty percent increase in bone mass."

"How much larger has he grown?"

"Well, when the project began, he was 5'10" and weighed 141lbs. The last estimates put his current height at 7'1", and his weight at almost 400lbs."

"I see."

"Sir, I have to inform you that given what I am seeing in Yizuka's notes, his growth has not yet stopped. In the nutrient bath, genetic bonding was able to occur at a slowed a much more observable rate."

"How big is he going to get?"

"We have no way of knowing" Murasawa said. Tatakonda shot the younger man a cold eye.

"So what do we know?"

"Well, we do have a way of tracking him" Murasawa said. "During the therapy process, project G-3's core temperature increased to 115 degrees. This was, again, while immersed in the nutrient bath. Outside, with the rapid mutation that is likely to result, should cause his temperature to sky rocket to several times that."

"So then how do we find him?" Tatakonda wanted to know.

"Simple sir" Murasawa said with a cocky smile. "Follow the heat."

Heaven above, when would this cursed burning beneath Project G-3's skin cease. For a day he wandered beneath the city of Nu Tokyo, lost in the labyrinth of its water works. All around him the putrid scent of humanity's waste hung in the air. If not for the pain rising from the monster's heart, he would have ran to dryer, cleaner ground. But the longer he wandered, the more intense the inferno raged behind his ribs.

"What have you done to me!" he growled, collapsing to his knees. The monster's true nature had enough of hiding in the dark. It wanted out so painfully. All poor Haruo Nakajima could do was die screaming.

The rest of Yuri Tatakonda's day was not nearly as eventful as his morning. A few acquisitions here, a couple layoffs there. Fairly typical for the most powerful man in the country.

His driver strolled up in a stretch limo as light drops of rain began to fall. As he stepped into his carriage, Tatakonda was reflective. He had generated a disaster, but the only thing he was going over in his head was the costs it would take to keep it under wraps. Costs he could more than afford. It was a comforting thought as the sun set over the horizon.

Deep beneath, Project G-3 was still in pain. Pain as hot as the sun's surface. It washed over him in waves, with no relief, only increase. It was not a tide, but a flood. It would not last much longer though. For it was time for a long slumbering giant to emerge.

"Help me!" the monster bellowed.

Skin began to turn to scales as hard as granite. Teeth grew long, sharp, and deadly. From the base of the spine a tail emerged, strong as it was thick. The most painful though were the spikes erupting from the monster's spine. They tore from beneath the skin violently, wet with blood, and up through the long jacket Project G-3 covered himself in.

"HELP ME!!"

War was declared. Those responsible would be held accountable. The soul of Haruo Nakajima could not rest till the blood of the wicked righteously flowed upon the ground in rivers. Sorrow mixed with anger and was fueled by pain, welling up to a lump in Project G-3's throat till finally he let loose his battle cry; his roar.

It was a roar that had not been heard in almost 35 years. A roar that echoed through the tunnels of Nu Tokyo's sewers and reverberated upwards to the city itself. A roar that woke the sleeping, frightened the courageous, and stopped every man, woman, and child dead in their foot steps. A roar that brought a cold sweat to the forehead of Yuri Tatakonda. It was the roar of Godzilla, King of Monsters.


End file.
